Verbal Constipation

Every writer,at least once a lifetime, will in absolute desperation resort to writing about writers’ block; as though the act of writing in itself will serve as a laxative to their verbal constipation.

And believe me, it does feel like constipation.

You wake up in the morning with the desire to fill a page with words. But after all the rituals have been performed – coffee, cigarette, music – nothing comes out. You push and push, grit your teeth through the pain, but nothing is produced except turgid air.

The stench is unbearable. It is deleted and you push some more. Still to no avail.

In the grips of a bad block a writer will feel worthless and deluded. As though they have nothing to say and were foolish to ever believe they did.Your dream is revealed to you as childish and all this invested time a waste. Your life is a sham and you are pathetic.

Because you are a writer the melodrama comes naturally.

There are a few remedies the constipated writer might try – a walk in the park, drinks with a friend, failed suicide – but sometimes these things just don’t work and the writer realises he must figure out the cause of the block.

This is usually anxiety that manifests as an obstacle. It stands in your way, grinning malevolently, and no matter how hard you try to punch it in the face or kick it the groin it just doesn’t go down.

Its legs are rooted, you see, and the only way to topple this monster and step over it is to dig deep and find these roots – once they are found you can pull them out.